Sin
by DarthSlytherin
Summary: Castiel is becoming increasingly confused by his merging of human and angel. He is exploring not only emotion, but also the guilty pleasures that humans tend to indulge in... such as a certain human he had once sworn to protect.
1. Chapter 1

Originally he thought that perhaps this was meant to happen. Perhaps feelings were meant to arise when a bond between a human and his angel grows so strong, he feels compelled to disobey orders, merely to keep them safe. But deep down he knew all along that there was something wrong about what he was feeling. But he couldn't stop feeling it, so he locked it away, with all of the other emotions that he found were overpowering his mind.

He found himself more and more drawn to the oddly fascinating, before primitive seeming human under his charge. He would watch over him as he slept, partially for his own protection, and partially for a side of Castiel which he decided that he was not going to confront, because he knew that what he was feeling was too powerful to quench. It was better to ignore the warmth seeping through his abdomen, and the red hot shivers running through his body when he brushed skin with Dean than to try to deny them because then, things would become far more complex.

He was seeping into decadence in the worst possible ways. He had heard stories, of those who had fallen to the earth to lie with human women, though never had he been able to understand what had called them down. Now though, he understood completely.

It was the emotion.

He had never felt pleasure before, not before that one night when Dean was so drunk he fell asleep on Castiel's lap, moving in his sleep and grasping with his hands for invisible foes. Once he had managed to calm the hunter down, Castiel held him on his lap, unsure of what to do, and unsure of himself. There was something so comforting about the presence of them both in such close proximity that he didn't want to break the contact.

His skin was so hot that night, and it sent the nerves in his arms twitching and burning, in the most pleasant of ways. The contact between them was clammy as Castiel began to sweat, urging himself to pull away, but not being quite able to. Dean, still asleep, did not make anything easier as he nestled his face into Castiel's crotch, murmuring something about whatever he was dreaming about. Inadvertantly, Cas felt his hips buck forwards, and he gasped quietly. Shocked, he looked down at the back of the eldest Winchester's head, amazed at the sudden feeling which he had caused.

It was something he had never felt before, and although he knew that it was wrong, he could not help himself but to continue. Experimentally, he raised his hips slightly up against Dean, who murmured in response. Collapsing back, breathing heavily, the angel let his head fall back, hitting the wall solidly. There was a tension in his body which he had never felt before, not as an angel. He was certain that it was sin which made him feel so good.

With one swift movement, Castiel pushed Dean off of his lap, with one arm dragging him to the motel bed and leaving him there, before rushing into the bathroom. Closing and locking the door, he stumbled to the sink, unused to the sudden dizziness that he was experiencing. It was like he was becoming more human every day, with more emotions. Turning the tap on with shaking hands, he splashed water in his face quickly, then continued to gaze at himself in the mirror, his eyes locking with his vessel's. He tried to focus; he really tried to focus but all that would come to his mind when he attempted to concentrate was the exquisite feeling of Dean's mouth, moving over the fabric of his pants and how much more pleasurable it would be to feel his lips on the flesh underneath.

Shifting uncomfortably, Castiel glanced down at himself, more specifically at the bulge in said pants. Quickly, he looked around himself, as though to check that no one else was there, although it couldn't have been possible that there was anyone. Sam was still at the coroner's office, Dean was passed out and everything else which was hunting him was kept away by his cloaking spells and his hexbags.

All the same, he knew that God was watching. He leaned forwards again, pressing his groin against the cold edge of the sink as if to oppress the feeling altogether. Closing his eyes, he imagined all of the things which he had loved in heaven, and all of the paradise which he had lived in, and hopefully would return to one day. He imagined that he was in Heaven's Garden, strolling under the wide banana leaves and the giant oaks. There was not another soul in sight, until suddenly, a figure stepped out from behind a tree.

Castiel's eyes snapped open, and he splashed more water on his face, although this did nothingn to satiate his insane urge to run his hands over his own body, the dreamlike construction of Dean envisioned in front of him, sitting on the rim of the sink. Whining, he pushed himself away, and climbed into the shower, curling up in one corner like a scared child, hiding from a monster.

God was watching.

But it was so unbearable! With every second, the pressure in his abdomen would grow, and the images of Dean were flashing free and unheeded now. It was too much to control at once, and Castiel stretched out his legs, so he was splayed across the tiled floor, half in the shower cubicle and half out. He let his hands, which were resting tensely on his head, fall to his sides, relaxing his body completey and being surprised at the relief that he was given by just doing so. Physical needs had never affected him before... he must be becoming more cut off than heaven than he had anticipated.

Blowing a sigh, Castiel stared at the ceiling, contemplatively.

He was certain that he could hear Dean's breathing, from the motel bed ten metres from where he lay, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on his sound and his sound alone. The physical reality of the sound, the closeness of it, compelled his hands to move on their own accord. Ghosting on hand across the bulge in his pants, he shut his eyes tighter, and his mouth dropped slightly ajar, a slight huff of air escaping.

Increasing the pressure, Castiel rubbed his hand along the outline of his dick, through the soft material of his slacks. He adjusted his position, and slowly unfastened his belt, not rushing. The urgency of his want was waning, but the want itself was taking him over. He could have fought it, had he wished, for it was just a human urge. He had fought them before, when he refused to cave in to his emotions. However, this was different. He _wanted _this. He wanted Dean.

Pulling his pants down to his knees, he encircled his cock with one hand, revelling in the freedom which he felt in doing so. A soft moan escaped his lips, as he slowly massaged his dick, gathering momentum as he did so, eyes still squeezed shut. He could almost feel Dean's mouth on him again, except this time he was far from asleep. He was kneeling in front of him, on the motel carpet, hands running all up his stomach and down his thighs, taking Castiel deep into his mouth; as deep as he could go.

Another groan left Castiel, and he writhed against the wall, squirming at the sudden glory that he felt in touching himself. Dean was still on his knees, one hand cupped around his buttock and the other massaging his balls, and there was something so delightfully human about him. The sexual gratification was mounting, but Castiel still had to let his emotions out of the box before he could find the release that he truly needed. He needed to buck up and open the door which would reveal everything which his controllers had worked so hard to oppress.

Almost without hestiation, Cas opened that door, and everything came flooding to him. The love and the anger and the frustration and the triumph and defeat that he had experienced over the past year swirled around in his head, clouding what little rational thought he had left. Dean just kept on sucking on his dick like it was the only thing he had ever wanted, and Castiel felt his sinful euphoria coming to a climax, and although he tried to keep his voice down, he couldn't. With a shout, he came violently over his hand and the door of the shower.

Leaning back, panting from the exertion and the relief from release, Castiel opened his eyes, returning back to the real world. His senses were heightened; he was still throbbing from his elation and he grinned widely at nothing in particular, remembering back to the imaginary moment when he shot into Dean's mouth, and the look of udiluted pleasure on the hunter's face.

He didn't care that God was watching anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Whispers in the dark told him sometimes that God was watching, but Castiel did it anyway. The beautiful sin of it was enticing; the overpowering need which nothing but the act itself could satisfy was euphoric. There was no substitute and although he knew that it was wrong, he went ahead and did it anyway.

Days passed, turning to weeks, and Dean knew nothing of what he did in the dark, and who he imagined when he did it. The ironically innocent human remained oblivious to the new drug which Castiel was taking and his role as the object of his desire.

Sometimes he tried to think of other things. God, Sam, Heaven, Hell, angels, demons, life, death, but all things led back to Dean in some twisted way or another, and they developed into brand new fantasies which situated themselves in his mind, not to be moved until he played them out while running his hand up and down his dick, Dean's name turning to a ghost in the air around his lips. Everything reminded him of Dean, however inappropriate the time and however inappropriate the fantasy which surfaced at the reminder.

Four times he had been interrupted, and all four times, thankfully, Jimmy's long trench coat had hidden his shame effectively when he had answered the Winchesters' calls. However, once when he had heard Dean's deeply alluring, rumbling tones, he had paused to listen to the inflexion and the resonance in his tone. Ever since Dean had learned that he could pray to Castiel and Castiel could physically hear him, he took complete advantage of the fact. Sometimes he would just talk to his angel, while he was flying places and no matter how many times he spoke to him, Castiel's body not once failed to respond. Sometimes, he was forced to retire to a private place, so that he could take matters into his own hands.

Literally.

Castiel leaned back onto the rough motel bedspread, listening to Sam and Dean argue through the wall. They did not know he was there, and that would suit him just fine. From here, he could listen without feeling as though he was intruding - even though he would be cloaked from the human eye, Dean's green ones always managed to find him. Shame would overcome his curiousity and he would leave, to listen guiltily from another adjacent area. It was ironic, Castiel thought, as he rubbed his palm over the front of his black dress pants, that he would feel such shame when listening in on a conversation with his human while he felt no regret from jacking off to the sound of said human's voice.

But, as he had learned rather fast on Earth, emotions were irrational, and wildly uncontrollable. Recently had had realised that the easiest way to get by was to just roll with them.

The voices next door cumulated with the dramatic slamming of the motel room door and the sound of footsteps passing Castiel's (or to the motel receptionist: the empty) room and heading out to the street for a walk to cool down. It was undoubtedly Sam. Even if Castiel could not feel Dean's presence in the next room, he would know. Dean was far too stubborn to leave an argument and would never back down first. While Sam too suffered from severe stubbornness, he was the less of the two and had enough sense to walk away from a problem without aggravating the confrontation further. Dean had no such sense of knowing what was good for him, and faced confrontation with all the bravado or an ill-informed fool.

Castiel waited patiently, his sensitive ears picking up on the movement from the next room. Clicking his tongue absently – an irksome habit which he had inherited from Jimmy – the angel dropped his head back onto his pillow, caressing his thighs absently and allowing his mind to wander: a new phenomenon. The feeling of his hands, even through the material of his slacks, relaxed him deeper than just the point of sexual need. It brought him to a gentler fantasy, which he happily indulged in.

_..._

_Dean lay next to him, his body at complete peace with the warm, post-coital rush simmering below the surface. His chest rose and fell steadily, though slightly faster than normal, eyes shut tight as he tried to regain his composure. Feeling over blindly, he laid one hand on Castiel's opposite thigh, pushing his own against the nearest one. Breathing slowly inwards, using the spent air which he had drawn from the clammy air, his mouth adopted a pretty curve. _

_There were no words to use; no words to convey what he was feeling. There was no other way to show Dean the overwhelming urge to hold him except to let his actions speak for themselves. _

_Forcing one hand under Dean's torso – which was not difficult, as the human arched pleasantly to his touch – he rolled him up so they were face to face, one on top of the other. He stared up at the intense green eyes he had grown so fond of. Dean's smirk widened into a full blown grin as he lowered his mouth onto Castiel's, murmuring trite humanisms as he so often did. Many of them included the angel's nickname, spoken in a deep breathy tone which drew out into a long moan as Castiel ground his hips up onto Dean's. The friction was truly __delicious__. _

_Rhythmic movement steadied his pleasurable desire, and they were held back by the controlled method of their indulgence. Biting back his groans, Castiel took his sweet time to listen to Dean's soul, squirming and whining desperately in his chest. It was beautiful, the way that it glowed and moved, as an extension of Castiel, and it clung to the angel as if he was..._

_As if he was the part which it had always been missing. _

...

Castiel sat bolt upright, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. This was wrong. He could not do this, not to Dean. Not only was it an insult to his father – using his grace to envision Dean's soul – but it was also an insult to Dean himself.

He was _not _Dean's soulmate.

_This is wrong._

In considerable distress, he spread his wings and escaped from the motel room, vividly imagining Dean's accusatory tone in his mind's eye, and for the first time since he had acquired his new gift, wishing that he couldn't imagine anything. The human's voice did not turn him on as much when he sounded like this; malicious and angry, that Castiel would be so cowardly and repulsive.

_Cas, this is __**wrong**__._

_..._

_Short chapter, I know, but revising for prelims is tricky business. I have the next chapter half written, as it was originally meant to be a part of this one, but I still need to touch up. As always, I would be eternally grateful if you would take a second to review, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. Thanks!_


	3. Chapter 3

Blowing a hard sigh at the ceiling, Dean let out an ugly, frustrated shout to the world around him. Tensions had been running high now for a good few weeks now, due to tight quarters and usual problems.

"Insufferable." The elder Winchester muttered, angrily, then forced his mind elsewhere, as part of an automatic mechanism to not be angry at Sammy. He was his kid brother, after all; he was born to annoy him.

But soon, he remembered that forcing his mind elsewhere was part of a bigger problem. 'elsewhere' was forbidden because that is where his mind went when he had mothering else to think about, or when he found time to dream. Almost whenever he closed his eyes, a vision of his angel, in nothing but that damn trench coat came to the front of his mind. The trench coat suddenly didn't look as ugly as it had before.

Dean considered it as a result of the mental battery (more namely the apocalypse) that he kept imagining a naked dude. Or it might have been due to his time in Hell... he wasn't entirely sure which affected him more. Dean snorted, in wry amusement. Gay for an angel – that was a little something that would no doubt send him directly back down to his rack in the pit.

IT had begun one day when he had been far too tired to think about much of anything. Sinful images of Castiel came as a natural reflex when he closed his eyes, stemming from sordid dreams he had been experiencing since he had been raised from Hell. Of course, the dreams he assumed were merely an extension of his newly developed sadism and lack of sexual outlet.

Like that night, Dean had neither the energy nor the conviction to fight the images back, so he let them flow; he let his fantasies take control as he leaned back onto the rough motel bedspread, planting his hands firmly on his thighs absolutely certain that they would be consulted later on. He had never done this before. He had never actually indulged in heeding his mind's fantasized urges any attention, and he had most certainly never indulged them physically. But what the Hell... he was already damned.

Changing his mind fluidly and moving his hands up his body, he pulled off his button up, and the faded Led Zepplin tour t-shirt to reveal his bare chest and shoulders. The red mark – the physical manifestation of Castiel's touch to his soul – stood out strong and red against the rest of his skin. Experimentally, he pressed his hand to the welted fingertips, not quite sure what to expect. _He could sense Castiel's breath near his ear, and he arched his back slightly, knowing that the force against his back was the bed but imagining that it was the angel's small strong body. That was his hand, once more on Dean's shoulder, gripping him tight._

_Humming his approval throatily, Dean could see his angel hungrily biting as his chest, sucking at the places where blood ran close to the skin. Teeth scraped softly at the muscle and fingernails dug into the kin of his shoulder and his hip._ Castiel was everywhere, touching and tonguing and it all felt so fucking _real_.

Castiel mumbled something into his abdomen which sounded vaguely dirty and definitely un-Castiel-esque, and Dean's eyes snapped open, bringing him down unceremoniously from the heated daydream. He knew that Castiel would never use words like that; even though it was a phrase that was guaranteed a hip-jerkingly hard reaction from Dean. Even though he was imagining foreplay with an angel of the Lord, there was no need to be unrealistic. Also, his mind added in a small snide voice at the back of his head, dirty Castiel doesn't turn you on like sweet, innocent virgin Castiel turns you on: the Cas who needed to ask before putting anything anywhere; the Cas who would rebel from the angelic host for him; his Cas who could see his soul.

It was not an internal confession which he was entirely surprised to head. At this stage he was too hard to care even if he had been.

Not removing his hand from his shoulder, and Castiel's mark, he smoothed his palm down the firm muscle on his chest and began to unlatch his belt which, he discovered a few moments later, is exceedingly hard to do one-handed. Finally though, he managed to get his belt and pants undone, although he could not wait for pulling them down completely. Seizing his hard sick in his left hand, he shuddered at the sensation, Castiel's face fresh in his mind, with his hand on the mark which the angel had left when he had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. A forbidden blasphemy and a nickname passed his lips, and Dean let out a long, needy and severely unmanly moan to the rapidly warming air surrounding him.

Yeah, he was most definitely going back to Hell.

"Ngh...Cas." The nickname had had chosen rolled freely along the length of his tongue as though it had been designed for that name and that name alone. "Come Cas, Please-"

"Dean." While the rest of the moans and guttural groans of his name had felt as superficial as most imaginations were, this one was so real that it sent vibrations down his body and straight into his cock; the good kind. Then, suddenly, horror dawning, he opened his eyes, hand pausing in its movement. In a completely silent, terminally awkward heartbeat of silence which was designed to be the most horrifying in his entire life, Dean's eyes focussed on the object of his desire, standing at the end of his bed with windswept hair and a startled expression.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait... and the cliffhanger. Physics prelim tomorrow then I can spend the last three days of study leave with this story. Will try to get another chapter up soon, while the ideas are fresh in my head. Thanks for all who reviewed – if I haven't thanked you already, I can't really remember – and favourited and alerted this story. Your support is really music to my ears. Or beauty to my eyes, if you choose to see it that way.

So on with the Dean/Castiel!

-Em x

...

The half spent fantasy was still running in the back of his mind, quietly playing out the sordid urges of Castiel's newfound sexual identity. He kept it as far away as possible, mind rolling into cartwheels as he attempted to quantify what had just happened. Rationalising masturbation was easy. There was no emotion or complex thought or planning involved; merely stimulus and response. This was different though. This was wrong.

Forcing his mind to go blank, he flew, for once pausing and gliding to enjoy the sensation of wind against his wings. He hadn't done that in a while, being too caught up in the Winchesters' current problem – whatever that may be – to just fly with his mind clear, waiting hopefully for orders which would never come, not now that his Father had forsaken him.

And no wonder why, what with his sinful behaviour.

Looking up at a nearby streetlamp as he wandered underneath it, the angel breathed in the deep night air. He didn't _need_ to breathe. There was no need for it, like he had no need for food. But the want was there. The desperate want to experience all of those things which made human life good. Not just the headlines of sex drugs and rock n' roll, but the underlying moments which were left without a thought, like the simple act of breathing in crisp winter air, and the feel of the refreshing wave flowing into his lungs.

They were new for Castiel, just like sex. And for every tiny human experience which he clung so desperately to, he became addicted, unable to pull himself away from the ultimate high he felt from the way that he could feel the human body working over his soul, and even though it was limiting, too small and too powerless, he found a certain familiar comfort in it all. When he had been human, hopeless and pathetic as he had felt at the time, it was nothing compared to how hopeless he felt now he was back to full power. Dean would call him recharged, or remojoed or something of the like.

Castiel held his breath and closed his eyes. The lack of oxygen felt wrong.

But being human felt wrong too.

Letting his breath out in a frustrated sigh, the angel glared straight forwards, at the empty street in front of him. It was torture, not knowing what was wrong and what was right anymore. For the first few millennia of his life, he had assumed that angels were always right; that the host was always well informed. For the last few years of his life he had been fighting against the host, for now he assumed that the humans were always right, or rather, the Winchesters were always right. But this was different... this was something that he actually felt, rather than following an example for. Maybe it was the imprint that humanity had left on him, but he knew one thing: Dean was not his soulmate.

If he was, he would have told him by now.

...

"You called me." Castiel found himself saying, and there was an odd feeling in his chest, which he could identify clinically as embarrassment, though he did not know why. Cheeks flushed and breath coming in pants, the human stared back at him with wide eyes, before moving faster than Castiel had ever seen him move, covering himself swiftly with the sheets on the bed and nearly ripping them in his enthusiasm.

"I didn't think that... no I didn't." Dean was fully aware that he couldn't lie to Cas, but he was on his last effort here. His angel had just walked in on him jacking off, moaning his name. He was fully intending to put off the explanation for as long as possible because honestly he didn't know what he could say to make it sound any better. Clearing his throat, he waited for the angel to say something.

He didn't.

Eventually, Dean lost his patience after a long few minutes of purposefully avoiding eye contact and disturbed by the clear lack of movement in Castiel's eyelids.

"Okay, say something. I don't care if you smite me, or beat me up, or go back to Heaven, but don't just... stare at me!" Dean cried, rearranging the covers which he was certain that if Castiel actually wanted to, would make no difference to visibility. The entire situation was not helped by the fact that he was still massively hard, and every time that he raised his eyes to meet Castiel's visage so much heat splashed through his groin he found it hard to think straight.

When he stopped biting his lip and thinking of Castiel sucking his cock, Dean realised that the look on Castiel's face was not one of shock, nor of disgust. He looked genuinely hurt, and Dean's heart sunk a little bit in his chest, realising what he had said. "Dude, I didn't mean that I wouldn't care if you went back to Heaven, like really back," Castiel did not look convinced, and lowered his head towards the floor, crestfallen. "I was just trying to get my point across."

"I understand."

"Good, I mean, I don't want you thinking that I don't want you here or anything." Dean yammered on, using the excuse of talking with hand gestures so that he didn't need to meet Castiel's intense blue eyes. "And it's just that... I don't really know what I'm supposed to say to this." There was a further long silence before he remembered Castiel wasn't one for taking hints. He tried again. "Listen, I'm sorry man, it won't happen again."

"I have no right to judge you." Glumly, Castiel hung his head, and Dean blinked for a moment, unsure how to take the acceptance of what just happened. He would have been only too happy to leave it at that, not completely understanding the angel's admission, but Castiel chose to continue. "I myself have pleasured myself recently amid thoughts of you."

Dean felt his mouth fall slightly open, his mind caught between a loud and obnoxious 'what the fuck' and a brutally hot image of Cas hunched over, impossibly blue eyes clenched shut as he rode out orgasm. The sheet shifted over his groin and he nearly bent over, shocked by the sudden sensation of the breath being stolen from him, unwilling to believe that Cas meant that but at the same time wishing so hard that he did.

"Dude, can angels even wank?" Eventually, after mouthing wordlessly and thinking determinedly of things that weren't going to get him off early – such as Wendigos, VW Beetles and Bobby naked – Dean managed to force out the first thing that came into his head. "Isn't it like... against the rules or something?" The pure desperation and panic in Castiel's wide eyes made Dean immediately guilty for saying so. "I mean, obviously, it's natural for humans, and I guess that now you've got the stick out of your ass, it's okay..." Dean trailed away, wondering why he spoke like that. In his mind, it sounded like he was trying to be comforting; to be a good friend to Castiel who apart from him, quite literally had no one, but out of his head, he just ended up sounding like an asshat.

Castiel's gaze was fixed, morosely on the floor, and he shifted his feet in a way which was painfully unangelic yet maintained his normal angelic standard of awkward. Feeling so bad that it physically hurt, Dean bit his lip and jerked his head. Castiel thankfully took this hint and came to perch on the edge of the mattress. Taking a deep breath, Dean thought back to when he had to give "the talk" to Sammy, back when he was fourteen, trying to remember how he had done it when he was eighteen and still relatively sexually inexperienced. Now that he was very sexually experienced though, he decided to use the exact same words to calm the slightly haunted look in Castiel's eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with doing... that." Dean struggled for words to paraphrase, so he just improvised. Although Castiel cocked his head to the side, he was pretty sure that the angel caught his drift. "I mean, just..." Without another word, and without a clue how to continue – as the conversation with Sam had finished long ago and it had been long understood that they never talked about it ever again – Dean played with the sheets around his waist, biting his lip absently. For every second that passed, he could feel the scorching heat coming from Castiel - he didn't know why, but he had always been quite a few degrees above normal, even when completely Fallen – and he could feel the innocent gaze blessing his naked torso.

"Come here." Pulling himself up against the headboard, he gently took hold of Castiel's shoulders, guiding him across the bed until he sat in the very middle, staring straight ahead in surprise at the motel wall, back ramrod straight and centimetres from Dean's chest. Placing his legs on either side of the angel, he attempted to control his breathing, before shifting forwards so his chest pressed against Cas' back – hot even through layers of clothing – and looked over his shoulder, pulling him back slightly at an angle so he could see better but Castiel was staring at the opposite wall.

He wasn't just going to Hell; he was going to be struck down by God himself.

"Cas..." Arching silently to Dean's voice, saying his name, the only thing that he's really wanted in months, Castiel allowed the human to slip the trench coat off his shoulders, and then his suit jacket before throwing them both onto the floor beside the bed. "Show me what you do." The head next to him twisted, big blue eyes seeking out Dean and he faltered as he realised that Casitel was freaked out of his mind. Had he read this wrong? Did Castiel not want to do this?

Knowing that it might well be the last thing he ever did before a nasty smiting "accident", Dean ran his hands from Castiel's sides, still covered in a white dress shirt, to the front of his slacks. Muscles in his throat constricted at the tautness of the material he found there, stretched over what had to be a dick bigger than Dean's – something which usually would have made him slightly jealous - and a strangled noise, somewhat akin to a groan, rolled over his bitten lip.

Oh yeah. Castiel wanted this.

"I can't." The angel grunted, his voice low and reverberating; so different that Jimmy Novak's boyish tones and once again Dean was reminded that under this body was an ageless creature of beauty, and one which deserved more than to be his plaything. "Dean," He continued with a guttural moan, which chilled Dean down a core which he wasn't aware that he had. "Dean, this is wrong." Dean's warmth pulled away from Castiel, who felt cold without the strong chest holding him up.

"Cas, you said..." A sinking feeling twisted is stomach, and he felt a little like he did every time that Castiel left him without saying goodbye after what he felt was a progressive conversation. He was gripped with the sudden horror that maybe he was spreading his wings, ready to fly away again and leave Dean not only to finish without a warm body beside him but also to finish with the knowledge that he'd just fucked up yet another friendship.

"I said that I... Dean, I have... I have sinned." The shame in his voice could not possibly be missed but Dean attempted to brush it away, pushing his chest back up to Castiel and hoping that the closeness would change his mind. It was a technique that he had used on several women, who had been having second doubts about morning sex, but Dean wasn't entirely sure that it would work on an angel of the Lord.

"Dude, I told you, it's okay." Castiel shook his head, dampening hair rubbing against Dean's neck.

"Not the masturbation, Dean." Dean shifted uncomfortably at the blatant nature of Castiel's word choice. He didn't think he had _ever_ used the word masturbation. "Earlier, I imagined you and I, and I..." The pure anguish in Castiel's voice made Dean think twice about how this was working.

"Dean, I imagined that we were..." He could hear the mantra in his head, over and over again, in Dean's angry voice: _This is wrong, This is wrong, This is wrong..._ "We were..." But it felt too good to be wrong, surely? _Wrong, wrong, wrong_. Was is wrong for him to feel so human?

"Cas, I've imagined that a lot lately."

"No," Suddenly, Castiel pulled away, just as Dean encircled him with impossibly strong and calming arms. "No, I imagined that I made you complete." For a change, Dean was the one to cock his head to the side, trying to understand what the angel was talking about. All he was aware of was that his dick was throbbing and he really needed to make this good for Cas.

"Not the first time, Cas, but I'm sure we'll get there." Desperately, Dean crawled after him, knowing that he looked a state with sweat shining down his chest from desire and Castiel's heat, and his boxers halfway down his thighs, but he didn't care. He just needed Cas. "Please, let me-"

"I imagined that I am your soulmate Dean, and that is wrong." The tone in Castiel's voice was final; so cold that it made Dean stop in his tracks. "I cannot even begin to presume that, and I know I do not deserve to be saved –"

"Well isn't that ironic?" Dean snorted, smirking slightly, and the angel shuddered, lowering his head to below its normal position, the physical pain and the pleasure and the tears threatening to fall hitting his body and his body quailing under the onslaught of emotion. "Do you remember what you said to me when we first met?" Blue eyes darted up to meet Dean's green ones, and he felt the urgency fuelling his body begin to wane. Shit, the angel was really torn up about this. "Listen, Cas, I know that you feel bad, but I don't mind. Really." Shrugging, Dean attempted to think about the implications of it all. "I mean, I forgive you, if that's what you want to hear."

"You would forgive me for that?" Castiel suddenly knew that although his Father was still watching him, and although other angels would looks down upon him, there was no more approval in the Universe that he would rather have.

...


	5. Chapter 5

_If anyone was really wondering about it, this is placed roundabout the sixth season... you know, if Sam had his soul back and they were just back to hunting, although if there is a Heaven civil war - and I want opinions on that! - it will be detailed in the following chapters. A little spoilery for fourth and aspects of the fifth season, but not bad in the giant scheme of things. Focus is on the Destiel here, people, and don't forget it! However, if anyone has a specific problem or objection about the timeline, review or PM me and tell me about it; I'm always up for suggestions and constructive criticism. _

_-Em x_

...

Slowly but surely, something was happening.

Castiel lacks the human knowledge that Dean seems to possesses in screeds, because he has no idea what that something is. He is spending more time with Dean as though Dean has taken it upon himself to make sure that Castiel is never alone, and while the angel finds this pleasant, he sometimes worries. He worries that one day, he might not be able to control himself.

Castiel's sexual desire both heightens and wanes with Dean's presence. The human's voice, and his soul, and – a recent fascination of Castiel's – his body all made him shudder upon touch, but Dean's words and keen green eyes kept him sated and surprisingly engaged with their present relationship. It keeps him in an odd trance, grounded and addicted to spending time, sometimes in complete silence, in his presence.

Castiel knew the moment would inevitably come when he lost control and would need like he found humans did. It would come and take him and nothing would stop him from what Dean could make him feel. The tension was already beginning to creep up, hitting him hard whenever they sat close, or when there was nothing on his mind to prevent him from touching. But, to take the next step: to give himself completely to Dean, was wrong.

It was an immeasurably alluring concept, but an unrealistic one all the same. This body did not belong to him... not really. He knew that, despite all of the recreations and the harrowing, there was something deep inside him that belonged to Jimmy Novak, the poor man whose life he ruined merely by taking residence in his body.

Castiel knew that one day soon, Dean's own need would get too insistent, overcoming his unspoken thoughts about it being weird that they were both 'men'. When that happened he would need to satiate Dean, sexually, and he was dreading such a conversation. The last thing he wishes to do is to reject such a perfect human; reject such a perfect partner, but how was he meant to just brush away the feeling of wrong that he felt while using a human's body for such sinful things?

He couldn't do it, but he could not get to Heaven. He knew that Jimmy must reside there, and if not then Jimmy didn't reside anywhere. In fact, during his recreation, Castiel had noted the distinct lack of the man's soul in his vessel, but had refused to confront it with sense, instead insisting that Jimmy was in Heaven, living happily. The honest truth was that he had no idea where Jimmy was.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss; another thing he learnt from humans.

Now, however, he had only one option, to make sure that what he was doing was okay. He knew that Jimmy's family would tell him no. He wished that he never had to pose the question in the first place, but Castiel was getting increasingly close to the sin he knew he could never really have: Dean. He had to ask, even if they stab and shout and throw things at him, he had to ask.

And that is how he ended up in Utah, knocking on the door of a small semi-detached house with a rose patch and a porch swing. The Novaks had done well for themselves, despite not having a father around. Castiel felt a well-deserved stab of guilt in realising that he really should have checked up on them, if even just to show his condolences and gratitude.

In his long days spent with Dean, merely learning about human culture – from a Winchester point of view, which he knew had to be considered cautiously – Castiel knew that knocking on the door was the proper etiquette. Along with Dean's 'how-to-be-human' tutorial, he had also learned from experience, by appearing to Bobby several times without invitation and being welcomed by a shotgun round to the face.

Claire Novak opened the door, her cheerful rosy cheeks slackening as she saw who was beyond it. Castiel stared at her, seeing how much she wished him to be her father, and to take her in his arms to hold her like he used to, to lull her to sleep at night.

"Castiel?" She knew it was him; she could sense him. She too had been a vessel for him, and she had the ability to look upon his true form without causing any harm to her fragile human body. She could also sense him, as traces of his Grace still resided in her own body.

"Yes." Looking beyond the young girl, he saw the wife of his vessel, standing with her back to them as she set the dinner table.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was cold, and it alerted her mother, who turned to see who was talking to her daughter. With a gasp, Amelia dropped the plates onto the table, accidentally breaking one in half. She didn't appear to recognise Castiel, most likely out of hope, and assumed that it was her husband standing at the door.

"Ji-" Claire shook her head, gazing over her shoulder at Amelia, who visibly steeled, shoulders squaring and eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to ask you a question." Castiel felt a cold chill following him from outside, but knew that any warmth inside would be more icy. "About my v- about Jimmy." Learning from experience – after an awkward conversation with Dean about how people don't like to be categorised as 'meat suits' – Castiel knew to call vessels by their human names.

"You're not welcome here." Castiel shivered outright now, and wondered briefly if it was the chill of the night, or the coldness of Amelia's speech which made him do so. It was worrying, that either would affect him so readily.

"I believe I am falling." The look of horror, surprise and twisted vindication were visible at the edges of her being, emotions which he could now identify. "Again."

"Why are you falling?" Claire finally asked, because despite knowing that Castiel was the reason Jimmy was dead, she was still immensely grateful that he had saved her and her mothers' lives, and put her father out of extreme misery.

"I have begun to express human emotion." Castiel cursed how the chill made him yearn for the warmth of Dean's body, his chest pressed against the angel's back: the human's favourite pose for just sitting, watching tv or talking about something mundane. Castiel wasn't entirely sure why, but whenever they did that, Dean mumbled something about chicks and snuggling.

"Human emotion?" Amelia was less understanding of Castiel's explanation, as she did not know, nor wished to, of his true nature; she did not know how he thought and felt like Claire did. Acting vessel to an angel was painful, and it was devastating, but it was very informative.

"What, you met a girl, or something?" Claire asked, her face pulled into a frown. "And you've come here to ask us... what?"

"I have come to ask you for permission to use Jimmy's body to fulfil sexual desire." The words felt awkward coming from his lips, so abruptly. Amelia stared at him with one eyebrow raised and her mouth slightly open, while Claire was torn between surprise and dawning horror.

"You mean like..." Amelia prompted; her words light and slightly aloof.

"Sex." Castiel informed her, bluntly, and she took a deep breath in, scoffing.

"So you don't ask our permission before taking him as a vessel, but as soon as you want sex, you're coming to see us? You haven't let our father talk to us in so long." Moving across to the doorway sharply, Amelia situated herself firmly inbetween Claire and Castiel.

"Your father is no longer in this body." Castiel replied, calmly, although his body felt warm, sweat gathering underneath his shirt despite of the coolness.

"Why?" Claire asked, and Castiel could see the small ounce of hope still in her that was burning for her father. "Is he in Heaven?"

Jimmy Novak was not in the Heaven he deserved.

"Yes, he is in Heaven now." The lie rolled off his tongue almost before he could stop it. Learning life lessons from Dean had clearly taken its toll.

"And what, you want forgiveness?" The thought didn't appease Amelia.

"I did not come seeking forgiveness. I know that is something you are unwilling to give." This only appeared to enrage her further.

"We'll decide what we are and aren't willing to give." Amelia snapped, one arm cradling her daughter to her side protectively. "We weren't willing to give you Jimmy."

"He was willing to be taken, in the beginning for his love of my Father and in the end out of love for you. I didn't understand humans the way I do now. I know I caused you pain. I know that you wish me dead. I can only apologise for what I did because I don't know what else to do... Dean has not taught me about apologies yet: I believe he is attempting to ignore the subject until completely necessary." Castiel swallowed, his throat dry under Amelia's scorching gaze. Claire's glare began to lessen. "He has always preferred actions over words."

"You're being... you're being taught how to be human, aren't you?" She asked suddenly, understanding more of the situation than her mother did. With a small nod, Castiel averted his gaze; he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was ashamed that he needed to be taught, after all, it was something that should come so naturally.

There was a slight noise of a shifting of feet on the coarse welcome mat, and Claire came out, to stand directly in front of Castiel, despite her mother's objections.

"If Dad's is not in there, then I don't care what you do with the body." She said, bluntly, and Castiel knew it was true. Her worry and her care were for her father and her father alone. "Just tell me... how long did he have to suffer in there?"

Claire knew what it was like to be a vessel. She knew how the limitations were stretched, emotionally and physically, and she knew how painful it was, even just for a short amount of time, to be a vessel. Like her father, she couldn't bear to see her loved one in that kind of pain.

Dean had taught Castiel how to lie fast and efficiently and although he wasn't passing any Winchester tests, this one felt like it belonged.

"He died immediately, during the transition." A strangled sob was heard, deep inside Claire's throat, and for a long moment, nothing was visible on her face, but heartbreaking relief shone through her tears.

"Thank you." Castiel knew that the prayer was not meant for him, and he felt a surge of something warm in his chest, something that made him feel whole again, which twitched at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't sure what he was feeling most of the time – Dean hadn't covered that one yet – but he was certain that the faith in his Father was what warmed him.

"If we give you permission, will you leave?" Amelia was less understanding, and Castiel slowly inclined his head, heart both leaping and falling at the knowledge that they didn't care what happened to this body now that Jimmy had vacated it.

"Thank you for not shooting me." Amelia and Claire looked at each other, doubtfully, and Castiel realised that he had just made a statement that needed more elaboration. "Sometimes if I ask the hunters uncomfortable questions, they shoot me." It was not meant as humor, but Amelia appeared to find it amusing.

Not breaking her eye contact with Castiel, Claire stepped backwards through the door and closed it, not saying goodbye. Castiel didn't expect her to; Castiel didn't expect _anything_ from her. But now, she had her and her mother's permission.

And fuck if he knew what to do with it.

...

_A/N: Remember peeps, review and tell me if you want a war in Heaven, so Castiel has to deal with Raphael as well... don't worry, I have plans for all eventualities! xxx_


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